Hot chocolate, discussion and Death at 2:00 am
by Elena Zovatto
Summary: Post "The Body", BtVS/Sandman crossover: On patrol after her mother's death, Buffy meets a stranger who gives her something she needs to fight Glory.


**Hot chocolate, discussion and Death at 2:00 am**

  
  
  
  
  


_Disclaimer: None of characters used in this story are mine. I only wish I could have dreamed up such wonderful people as Neil Gaiman and Joss Whedon (the most groove-tastic one) have done. Buffy and all characters mentioned from Buffy: the Vampire Slayer belong to Joss, the actors who bring them to life, and whatever network has the rights to the show. The Endless belong to Neil Gaiman and DC/Vertigo Comics. Needless to say, I am profiting in no way from this story, though one could argue there **has** been a profit -- to society -- in keeping me off the streets while I was writing this thing :-)_   
  


With a pained shriek, the vampire collapsed into dust as her stake finally struck home. Her shoulders slumping in relief, Buffy took a steadying breath, then shook herself and continued her patrol of the cemetery. It was a quiet night, and a good thing too. She just couldn't concentrate, couldn't stay focussed -- and a distracted Slayer was a dead Slayer. 

She should've just gone home -- Chosen One or not, unless she got it together fast, she'd be in just as much danger as any ordinary girl -- but she just couldn't do it. She couldn't face going home yet. Going back to the place where her mother had died, going back to face her little sister who wasn't, going back to her friends and their pity... 

*Always with the damned pity...* 

She just couldn't do it -- not yet. 

It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was the one slotted to die early. Why did her mother have to die? 

"Why?" she whispered. 

"Why not?" 

Buffy whirled toward the voice, stake in hand -- but it wasn't a vampire that had spoken. Her slayer-sense told her that much. 

It was a girl. 

She was perched on the edge of a tombstone, dressed head to foot in black. Her skin was pale and smooth as milk, and hanging from a simple black cord around her neck was a large silver ankh. The black, shaggy spikes of her hair gave her a somewhat punkish look, as did the spiral design that was drawn under one eyelid, but the accompanying attitude was missing from her demeanour. She gave Buffy a friendly smile. 

"Sorry I startled you -- but I figured if I didn't snap you out of it, you were probably going to walk into something." 

Buffy noticed that the stranger had a point -- two more paces, and she would have taken a header over a small monument she hadn't even noticed was there. 

"Yeah... thanks," she replied slowly. Then she remembered the stake in her hand, and as she lowered it, began working on an explanation. 

"Oh, and sorry about this... it's just that there have been a lot of... muggings around here lately, and when I found this lying around I thought..." 

Chuckling, the stranger slid off the tombstone and brushed off her jeans. 

"No need to explain, Buffy. You're a Slayer -- stakes sort of go with the territory." 

Buffy stared at her. The girl looked vaguely familiar, but how could she know about being a Slayer? 

"Do I know you?" Buffy asked hesitantly. 

"Well, I see you every night, though you don't often notice me," the stranger offered. "And we did meet briefly, but that was a couple of years ago." She paused, and introduced herself with a smile. "I'm Death." 

"Oh please," Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes. 

In the face of the Slayer's derision, the stranger's reaction was only to smile patiently, much like a parent who had decided to indulge the innocence of a child's flight of fancy rather than explain the realities of life. Then she spoke again. 

"If you concentrate on your memories of what happened after the Master bit you, you might remember me. Though all things considered, I can see why you wouldn't want to go there," she shrugged. "Near-death experiences tend to weird people out. And besides, drowning isn't exactly the greatest way to go." 

The Slayer gaped at the other girl, and felt the first glimmer of belief at the stranger's bizarre claim. No-one but the Scoobies knew what had happened the night she defeated the Master -- and meeting a walking personification wouldn't be the strangest thing to ever happen to her. But she just had to ask... 

"So where's the hooded robe and the scythe?" 

"If you had any idea how uncomfortable that get-up is, you wouldn't even ask," Death said, her dark eyes twinkling. "Besides, as fashion statements go, that look is totally Middle Ages -- I do move with the times, you know." 

"Why are you here?" Buffy demanded, her stomach suddenly churning. 

"Relax, Buffy. I'm not here for you tonight; at least, not in the way you think. I was curious -- I've seen a lot of you over the years, but you've never given much thought to me until recently. Now I know why that is, and I thought it might be good if we talked." 

"So you just thought you'd pop by for a visit?" the Slayer asked incredulously. 

"Pretty much," Death said. "I do that sometimes. And you are closer to me than most people -- William was right about that much at least." 

"William?" Buffy puzzled over the name, until she realized to whom the other woman was referring. "You mean Spike?" 

"Right -- I met him when he was William, though. Too bad how that worked out, but that's my brother for you," Death sighed. 

"You have a brother?" 

"Three, actually. But I meant Destiny." 

"Oh... Spike has a destiny?" 

"Don't we all?" Death asked. "Is there anyplace nearby we can go? If we're going to be talking for a while, we might as well be comfortable. And I could use a hot chocolate." 

"Death drinks hot chocolate?" 

"Death will happily consume chocolate in any form. It's the ultimate comfort food. So -- got a place in mind?" 

"Yeah, actually..." 

"Let's go -- you look like you could use a cup yourself," Death smiled. 

"I... haven't had hot chocolate since..." 

Unable to finish the sentence, Buffy's face started to crumple, and Death put her arm around the Slayer's shoulders. 

"I know," she said gently. "C'mon, let's go." 

The coffeehouse Buffy had been thinking of was only a short walk from both her home and the cemetery. After their arrival, they were soon ensconced in a small booth near a fireplace, sipping from huge mugs of hot chocolate. The Slayer held her mug in both hands, warming them. 

"Mom always used to make hot chocolate for me whenever I was sad or upset about something. She used to say there was nothing so bad in life that a cup of hot chocolate couldn't make you feel a little better. But somehow, I think it's gonna take more than a combined caffeine and sugar high to get through this one." 

"Probably," Death agreed, raising her mug, "but every bit helps. Cheers." 

"Cheers," Buffy said, returning the gesture. 

They each drank to seal the toast, then Buffy spoke again. 

"So -- you gonna answer my original question?" 

"I already did -- but I can elaborate if you want. Your mom died for the same reason everyone and everything dies -- it was time. There's really nothing more to it." 

"And Death is a part of life, yadda yadda yadda. I know that song and dance -- I can even accept it. But why so soon? Who actually decides when it's time?" 

"Now _that_ is a better question," Death replied, "and a tough one. No one being decides when it's time. What determines that is a combination of a lot of different factors, most of which have to do with free will. It boils down to the sum effect of an infinite number of choices made by an infinite number of people. Each choice is almost insignificant on its own, but together, they can determine the outcome of a life. Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?" 

Buffy frowned. 

"Unless it has to do with flowers, nectar and caterpillars growing up, no." 

"It's a theory about weather -- if a butterfly flutters its wings in Peking, that air disturbance can cause a thunderstorm in New York. Small things can have huge, unforeseen consequences. These are the sorts of things that decide when it's time -- every choice made is a determinant. And since life _is_ about choices, you could say the life lived determines the death." 

"So... if I had _chosen_ to be home that afternoon..." 

"In this case, it wouldn't have made any difference," Death interrupted, and there was compassion in those old, old eyes. "There was nothing you could have done had you been there. Believe me, I know." 

Buffy could only nod mutely as she fought back a sob. Knowing didn't fill the void of her mother's absence, but at least she knew that it wasn't her fault after all. She had known that in her head all along -- it was her heart that was having trouble with the concept. Less so now, but still... 

"It was too soon..." she choked out. "She should have had more time..." 

Death reached out, her hand cupping the Slayer's chin, making their eyes meet. 

"Buffy, your mom had what everyone has -- a lifetime. And she lived hers to the hilt." The Endless one paused. "Joyce took you for a role model in that department, you know." 

Buffy's jaw dropped. 

"You're kidding, right?" she asked. Her companion merely shook her head as she sipped from her mug, and the Slayer could only sputter in disbelief. 

"But... but that doesn't make any sense! Spike told me I have a death wish, you said he was right -- that I'm 'closer to you' than most people. Plus the slayage tends to get in the way of most warm-and-fuzzy-making, life-related activities. Slaughtering evil dead as a career tends to put a damper on the Hallmark moments. You want to explain to me how any Slayer could be a role model for living?" 

"I didn't say Spike was right about everything," Death replied evenly. "He was right in that you _are_ closer to me than most people. _That_ was what I said. Now if you like, I'll tell you where he was wrong." 

That immediately captured the Slayer's attention, and Buffy leaned forward intently. 

"Please do. He's _so_ insufferable when he's right, and -- I can't believe I'm saying this -- he's been right a lot," she admitted grudgingly. "I'd love to be able to rub his arrogant nose in it just once, wipe that know-it-all smirk off his face... assuming I don't just stake him on sight, after that last stunt of his," she finished, muttering. 

"Fair enough. It's all in interpretation. Spike was right in that danger excites you and that you enjoy living on the edge. But what kind of edge is it?" 

"I... never thought about it, I guess..." Buffy replied hesitantly. 

"You should. Spike saw it as a cliff, and if that's what it was, he would have been right about you having a death wish. But your edge -- a Slayer's edge -- isn't a cliff. A person can back away from a cliff; a Slayer _can't_ back away from what she is. You should know -- you've tried it before." 

"So if it's not a cliff -- what is it?" 

"Have you ever read any Hindu philosophy?" 

"Sorry, all my free time gets taken up with saving the world. Haven't kept up with my Book-of-the-Month club. Would you get to the point please?" 

"I am -- that's where the best description of it comes from. The edge you're on isn't like a cliff -- it's like a sword suspended over a bottomless pit." 

Buffy blinked. 

"And this is better than a cliff how?" 

"It's not -- better, that is. It's certainly more dangerous. It offers no choices, as a Slayer has none. One wrong step left or right and you fall. And the only way to advance is to cling to the edge and crawl forward -- but as you do, the blade cuts you open," Death shrugged. "It's the whole 'live by the sword, die by the sword' thing." 

"So not seeing the happy, here..." Buffy grumbled. 

"Getting there -- the reason why you walk along this edge despite everything is that it calls out on an elemental level to something deep inside you that can't be denied -- something you _are_, heart and soul." 

"A killer?" Buffy asked softly, giving voice to her deepest fear. 

"No -- a warrior." 

"A killer with good PR," Buffy sighed, defeated. 

"Hardly," Death snorted. "Killers do what they do out of selfishness. You want to tell me how risking your neck night after night with no real reward or recognition of any kind is selfish?" she challenged. "You're acting selflessly, Buffy, not selfishly. That's what makes a warrior. And as hard as a warrior's lot in life is, it also has some advantages." 

"We're at the happy now?" Buffy asked, hopefully. 

"Bingo. First happy: because you exist so close to me, you see things others don't. Your appreciation for life is greater than most people could ever imagine. You realize exactly how precious it is, and you never, ever, take it for granted. 

"Second happy: because you know that there are no guarantees on tomorrow, you live each day to its fullest. You're Carpe Diem Girl." Death paused, as if expecting a question, but the Slayer broke the brief silence, annoyed. 

"I do know what carpe diem means -- I have seen Dead Poets Society, you know." 

"Sorry," Death's mouth quirked upwards in a grin. "Anyway, that takes us to happy number three: because you're so used to seeing things in terms of life and death, you're able to focus on what really matters. All the little insignificant things people go wiggy about on a daily basis don't bother you as much, because you see them in their proper perspective. 

"And here's one more happy for you, Buffy. You have the knowledge that as long as you're here, you _matter_. You're making a difference. It's been said that if just one person on this earth has breathed easier because you were alive, that is what it means to have succeeded. The whole world is breathing right now because of you, Buffy, and whether they ever know it or not, _you_ know it. And if you ask me," Death finished softly, "that makes for one gonzo of a happy." 

Buffy could only sit in silence as she processed what she had just been told. She could feel the truth of Death's words at a gut level -- it was a truth that had stared her in the face for years, yet she had never really seen it before. Amazing what a different perspective could do for your outlook on life... 

How often had she seen other people ruin themselves or others out of misguided fear -- of the future, of dying, of loneliness -- or just a desire for recognition, some desperate need to know that some legacy of themselves would remain once they were gone? 

She already knew what her legacy was, and would be -- the world. 

And even when the day of her defeat and death came -- as she knew it inevitably would -- that legacy would live on. Every day she successfully fought off the darkness, every life she saved was another part of that legacy, to be passed to the Slayers to come. 

For the first time, Buffy truly understood why hers was a Sacred Calling. 

After allowing the Slayer a few minutes to reflect, Death spoke again. 

"So you see," she said softly, "there's plenty to take example from in a Slayer's life. Joyce realized that on your graduation night, though it took her some time to come to terms with it. And when she got sick, that knowledge was her lifeline. How else do you think she was able to be so calm before her surgery? Your example -- you -- gave her that, Buffy." 

"Was she... scared?" 

"When I came? No. Truth be told, when I told her what was happening, she was a little relieved." 

"What?" Buffy asked, shocked. 

"Oh, not that she was dead -- just that she went first. Every parent's nightmare is to have to bury a child, and that nightmare was always close to the surface these last few years because of what you are. She said that as selfish as it might be, she was happy that she wouldn't have to go through that -- although she also felt guilty for having to leave you. And she was relieved that you and Dawn would at least have each other to lean on once she was gone." 

"You talked to her?" 

Death nodded. 

"I'm glad," Buffy said, her eyes damp. "I kept thinking that she was all alone. It's... really good to know that she wasn't... that you were there for her." 

"I'm there for everyone -- it's only ever a question of when I arrive." 

Buffy looked at Death thoughtfully. 

"You're not what I expected at all," she said. 

"I get that a lot." 

"I can relate," Buffy said, her mouth curving up in a faint smile. Then the old clock in the corner of the shop began to chime the hour, and her eyes widened in realization. "Oh my God... it's past two! I was supposed to be home over an hour ago -- Dawn's going to freak! I have to go." 

"That's okay, Buffy -- I think we're done anyway." 

"For now," the Slayer said with another small smile. 

"For now," Death agreed. 

"It was good talking to you -- though I hope you won't take it personally when I say I hope it won't happen again any time soon." 

"Not at all -- for some reason, I get that a lot, too," Death replied impishly. "Take care, Buffy." 

"I will... and I suddenly feel very awkward because saying some variation of 'goodbye', or 'see you' to you is just majorly weird. So I'll settle for 'you too'," she said, getting up and moving toward the door. 

"I will -- and Buffy?" Death called. 

The Slayer paused, looking back. The Endless one looked at the mortal, and said the one remaining thing that Buffy needed to know. 

"When I said I'm there for everyone, I meant it. You have no idea how many gods I've picked up over the years." 

Buffy's closed her eyes for a moment as Death's words sank in. The Slayer took a deep breath, and seemed to stand taller than she had before. When she opened her eyes again, they held a spark which had been lacking since her first encounter with Glory. 

Hope.   
  
  
  
  
  


_Note: My first ever Buffy fic and my first ever Endless fic all in one go :-) And who knows? There may be more. A special thank-you goes to Heatherly, Gills and Rossi for their feedback and support with this story.___

_"Be as hard as the world forces you to be -- and be as soft as the world allows you to be." -- Sensei Chuck Merriman_


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